tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20254533449231669232024-02-07T03:22:22.930-08:00Steve and Natalie's Adventures in MaliStephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-3774410585897695382009-05-03T11:10:00.000-07:002009-05-03T11:07:30.516-07:00Oh how we love the neighborhood boys...Every time we do any kind of work in our concession, we have spectators. One of our concession walls is not solid concrete but rather has beautifully crafted columns so that we can have a view of the Senegal River. While this wall gives us a good view, it also gives all of the neighborhood children a good view, of us.<br /><br />Over the past months, we have been making an uncountable number of new friends. At first, we had a few groups of regular neighborhood boys who would bang on our door and yell out 'Oumar' or 'Fatim' until one of us came to greet them. Usually, all they wanted was a handshake and a smile. (We have created complex, multi-step handshakes with many of the neighbors, mostly Oumar's doing.) Although, there were a few who would desperately try to come into our concession (even pushing past our handshake) to take a peek into the white people's house or pick a few limes off our tree. For the most part, the neighborhood children know that they are not allowed into our concession without a verbal invitation.<br /><br />Lately, the neighborhood children have become wise to the fact that our open concession wall is a better place to greet us from than the closed front door.<br /><br />One day this past week, both Steve and I were sitting in our concession knocking out our laundry when one of the group's of neighborhood boys walked by. At first, they just called out our names and greeted us. Next, we went through the ritual of them asking us for mangos and us promptly telling them that the mangos on our tree were not yet ripe. (I am sure at some point they also asked us for some water, to use our bathroom, and if we have any chewing gum, all some of their favorite strategies to try to come into our concession.) Then, they decided to show Steve all of the lizards that they had recently caught, only a 25 CFA a lizard (6 cents). Steve informed them that he was good (on lizards) for the moment. It was the first time the neighborhood boys have tried to sell us anything. We had to ask them to let us take a picture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVr7fRPC9P5k6Yiaf_wyo0jpzKDtmame8aZq0IMms818M-6CyHrfBcvY8vWD6JyBI_n7Qq2_j346OqFoxcGvZiYDxNtaqKIXljyt6gyOxcuxYbEehdqX34hjBgS3o16TZ6AbiI3gLeDtP/s1600-h/boys_with_lizards.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVr7fRPC9P5k6Yiaf_wyo0jpzKDtmame8aZq0IMms818M-6CyHrfBcvY8vWD6JyBI_n7Qq2_j346OqFoxcGvZiYDxNtaqKIXljyt6gyOxcuxYbEehdqX34hjBgS3o16TZ6AbiI3gLeDtP/s320/boys_with_lizards.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331659673439533602" border="0" /></a><br /><br />While this picture is priceless, it may have been a mistake to break out our camera around them as today they have added 'asking us to take a picture of them' to their repertoire of demands.Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-63327947807007790992009-05-02T13:50:00.000-07:002009-05-02T13:59:18.723-07:00A Regular Morning<style type="text/css">!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --></style><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Arial, sans-serif;">I am not sure such a thing as 'a regular morning' actually exists for Steve and I... but I would like to try to describe some of our more regular activities during the previous cold season in Mali. (Since we have now entered hot season, our regular activities have changed a little, but especially work wise they remain relatively the same.) </span></span><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Arial, sans-serif;">As for now, Steve and I are lucky in that none of our immediate neighbors own any roosters or donkeys and that our house is not directly next to a mosque's tower (call to prayer). Thanks to the lack of noise, most mornings, we wake up naturally around 7:30 or 8:00. To wake up a little, we may read a chapter or two of our latest book or we may get straight to work. Unless one of us is unusually busy, we usually take turns preparing breakfast. A typical breakfast consists of either an egg sandwich (most mornings) or a peanut butter (maybe with jelly or honey) sandwich. On the weekends, we may make oatmeal, pancakes (from scratch), or buy pâtés (pastries filled with meat and vegetables) from a vendor on the street. (Also, talking about being lucky, some volunteers live in villages without eggs, without bread, and/or without peanut butter. We are incredibly lucky to have all three available to us.) </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Arial, sans-serif;">Some mornings, after breakfast, if we haven't taken a bucket bath the night before, it is time for bathing. In the cold season, the water is fairly cold, so all water for bathing must first be heated on our gas, three burner camping-style stove. (In contrast, most Malians heat their water for bathing over either a charcoal or wood fire.) After we fill the bucket with the heated water, we pour the water over ourselves with a plastic cup like a make-shift shower. We are now both experts at using only one bucket of water to wash ourselves. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Arial, sans-serif;">On some mornings, Steve is off to work first, since he has a 15 to 20 minute bike ride to his service. Although, for the most part, morning bike rides are actually extremely pleasant and refreshing due to the cooler morning temperatures. I also bike to work. Usually as I bike, I shout out greetings to all our neighbors who are out and to all of the regulars that I normally pass in the mornings. While work at the maternity (the part of the community health center specifically for maternal and infant health) at the community health center should begin at 8:00 AM sharp, many of the women, both workers and patients, do not arrive until closer to 9:00 AM. As long as I make it to the community health center (CSCOM, the French acronym) between 8:00 and 9:00 in the morning, I will have made it to work before work starts. I spend my mornings working with the infant nutrition program. I usually work with one of two different nurses and many trainees, as we weigh and measure every child under the age of five. After the measurements are taken, we must record them, check the status of malnutrition, and give counsel to the mothers as necessary. (In my opinion, all infant nutrition programs in Mali are of utmost importance, as one in five children under the age of five will die of malnutrition or a malnutrition related illness.) On the two busiest mornings at the maternity (Monday and Thursday), I give a relevant health talk to the women who are waiting for services (in French and my counterpart, a midwife, translates the information into Bambara). Aside from regular health consultations (with the doctor), the community health center has a daily vaccination program (where my counterpart works), nutrition program, and gives pre-natal and family planning consultations. Depending on the day, work ends anywhere between 11:00 AM to 1:00 PM (the latter on the busiest two days), although the doctor's services are always available.</span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Arial, sans-serif;">Typically, our mornings are the busiest part of our day, which is fine by me because it is also the coolest part of our day. Around 12:00 PM and sometimes as late as 2:00 PM, we conclude our mornings at my counterpart's house (also our host family), Zeinabou, for a lunch of rice and sauce. We circle up around the communal bowl and dig in with our hands just like our host family. </span></span> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:Arial, sans-serif;">As you can see, our mornings (most of the time) in Mali while different from the US are not all that different. We wake up, work, lunch, play, repeat, 'A bana' (In Bambara, it is finished).</span></span></p>Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-18230466796891848852009-04-06T08:59:00.000-07:002009-04-15T04:37:11.077-07:00YelimaneWe made our first (of I am sure many) trip to Yelimane for Mark's 34<sup>th</sup> birthday. Yelimane is a medium sized town in the north of the Kayes region not far from the border of Mauritania. Our friends Mark and Sam were thoroughly surprised at our arrival in that they were certain no one would ever visit Yelimane. For only $8 a person (and an extra $2 to sit in the front seat), we took the four hour bush taxi ride to Yelimane. At about hour two, we saw a troop of baboons crossing the paved road near a watering hole.<br /><br />We weren't in Yelimane long, when we realized we were basically in the Sahara. It felt dry hot and there was a lot of warm, sandy wind. Each of the two mornings we were there, we went on long walks around the city to see the sights. While there were some trees, they were definitely sparsely planted (water is hard to come by in Yelimane). Our second morning, we climbed a large hill on the outskirts of town and could see Mauritania off in the distance.<br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0in"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4Miz3T66an_Oz8KuudLIhuSGoyGNRFjeXHqhjz67XurLwqylghrXoObpMCmuZYkOfIiy99e7W27ZiI9vwtNqJRBWmJl0PW26Mj_d9EXQmefQ3ZMLoTVBCIJTF-m_Su6YP1_9chfvqWZI/s1600-h/dsc01716.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321624631696924242" style="WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 142px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4Miz3T66an_Oz8KuudLIhuSGoyGNRFjeXHqhjz67XurLwqylghrXoObpMCmuZYkOfIiy99e7W27ZiI9vwtNqJRBWmJl0PW26Mj_d9EXQmefQ3ZMLoTVBCIJTF-m_Su6YP1_9chfvqWZI/s320/dsc01716.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0in"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5j-MP66_dH3uz5sp_wza-XzvvAQn2WCT1LNzc6iS9kmszPz_zkj6cgRu5A6DZE8UERIwqWrk1Ak9BHCrGAFuqQxKrZp0BkKT5iJbRUG7-19Uhf2goqT8BMNzA4lOQyUgnGE0j1DMQ9eqL/s1600-h/dsc01720.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321626770549882242" style="WIDTH: 143px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 190px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5j-MP66_dH3uz5sp_wza-XzvvAQn2WCT1LNzc6iS9kmszPz_zkj6cgRu5A6DZE8UERIwqWrk1Ak9BHCrGAFuqQxKrZp0BkKT5iJbRUG7-19Uhf2goqT8BMNzA4lOQyUgnGE0j1DMQ9eqL/s320/dsc01720.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbNjPZTioWJRjVT80SAhllMl4OtOLuxZjvSmUjr2sVbnkrLUETWGT7leKEgh__0K4sA3x0edIMeAr0ES2uqSgL7mME-7yKCr0kCsmbnnS2f8e_phYdnKzyICYzyJ0rv74zdJIWdb6hwfY/s1600-h/dsc01754.jpg"></a></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0in"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCe17MldPLWiwlNQJjpL6O1H5CGrwtqIryvav50QJQYBb1beBGg09WedZr3KrXIbKo-oQnyCwi5yO6xdY7zU3NdyuMunkl37W8BwT2rkXYNlcj6TamNvUb_7sCQJ5JmofccYeGHL3RtuEY/s1600-h/dsc01709.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321622060332301634" style="WIDTH: 231px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 190px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCe17MldPLWiwlNQJjpL6O1H5CGrwtqIryvav50QJQYBb1beBGg09WedZr3KrXIbKo-oQnyCwi5yO6xdY7zU3NdyuMunkl37W8BwT2rkXYNlcj6TamNvUb_7sCQJ5JmofccYeGHL3RtuEY/s320/dsc01709.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5j-MP66_dH3uz5sp_wza-XzvvAQn2WCT1LNzc6iS9kmszPz_zkj6cgRu5A6DZE8UERIwqWrk1Ak9BHCrGAFuqQxKrZp0BkKT5iJbRUG7-19Uhf2goqT8BMNzA4lOQyUgnGE0j1DMQ9eqL/s1600-h/dsc01720.jpg"></a></p><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0in"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbNjPZTioWJRjVT80SAhllMl4OtOLuxZjvSmUjr2sVbnkrLUETWGT7leKEgh__0K4sA3x0edIMeAr0ES2uqSgL7mME-7yKCr0kCsmbnnS2f8e_phYdnKzyICYzyJ0rv74zdJIWdb6hwfY/s1600-h/dsc01754.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321626774860178722" style="WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 143px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbNjPZTioWJRjVT80SAhllMl4OtOLuxZjvSmUjr2sVbnkrLUETWGT7leKEgh__0K4sA3x0edIMeAr0ES2uqSgL7mME-7yKCr0kCsmbnnS2f8e_phYdnKzyICYzyJ0rv74zdJIWdb6hwfY/s320/dsc01754.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><br />It was definitely nice to meet everyone in Mark and Sam's Yelimane life. We ate some delicious bashee (millet grain, finely ground until it resembles sand) with their host family, the Imam's house. Aside from the welcoming people in Yelimane, my favorite part was the beginning of a battle of the sexes Euchre tournament (as of now 3 to 3, all tied up).<br /><p style="MARGIN-BOTTOM: 0in"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCe17MldPLWiwlNQJjpL6O1H5CGrwtqIryvav50QJQYBb1beBGg09WedZr3KrXIbKo-oQnyCwi5yO6xdY7zU3NdyuMunkl37W8BwT2rkXYNlcj6TamNvUb_7sCQJ5JmofccYeGHL3RtuEY/s1600-h/dsc01709.jpg"></a> </p>Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-31524789311329746202009-03-19T11:38:00.000-07:002009-03-19T12:07:20.283-07:00What I Miss the MostWhile there is much I do not miss about life in the United States, there are a few things I would not mind having again after Peace Corps service. (Naturally, I miss the relationships, my family and friends.) From my experience, the average Malian family lives without many of the amenities that many of us take for granted in the 'developed world.' For example, many Malians live without electricity and at times a proper water source (water sources: tap water, pump water, well water, river water). Therefore, the average Malian family does not have a refrigerator, stove, oven, dishwasher, water heater, washing machine, air conditioner or computer, many of the 'amenities' that we have come to know as commonplace in our daily lives.<br /><br />After much thought and while Steve may disagree, I miss access to a washing machine the most (at least for today). While every volunteer may have their own strategy for cleaning their laundry, I thought I would share mine. To begin, I first fill up two buckets with water, one for washing and one for rinsing (for many volunteers this step also involves fetching the water). I normally put half of a handful of powdered soap into the wash bucket. While I can normally wash four or five shirts in the same wash bucket, I can only wash one pair of pants before the color of the wash water is below my standards. For some reason, in my opinion, a pair of pants gets quite a bit more dirty than any other article of clothing. While you can find wash boards in Mali, I have found that rigorously rubbing a bar of soap across the clothing and then rubbing the clothing together does the trick. (Yes, you need good upper body strength for this.) After all of the stains are visibly gone, I dunk the article of clothing in the rinse bucket, wring it out, and hang it on the clothes line. (For many, after the space on the clothes line is full, tree branches, concession walls, or the ground are also acceptable places to dry one's clothing.) Now here's where I miss the washing machine... the process is tolerable, perhaps even a little enjoyable (with my iPod) when it is only one bucket's worth of laundry, but after two or three hours, I am usually exhausted.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk1DBLHjG97uqzpm0khcYi9MhZgTI2wWLh4P0bGk6em7AjpQP9snKE_b0Xb3N_SlY2U4_C3NN_ObUo3_HjockbVts7NeADcBBbLjCT5iGEaHYRK89_ZuEdYfypEyRX_g2lTmFxv2NOB5N/s1600-h/dsc_0170.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk1DBLHjG97uqzpm0khcYi9MhZgTI2wWLh4P0bGk6em7AjpQP9snKE_b0Xb3N_SlY2U4_C3NN_ObUo3_HjockbVts7NeADcBBbLjCT5iGEaHYRK89_ZuEdYfypEyRX_g2lTmFxv2NOB5N/s320/dsc_0170.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314973360445222306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For the record, I would guess the top three amenities Steve misses most (in no particular order) are air conditioning, refrigerator, and the internet.Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-15033302853590575682009-03-11T11:29:00.000-07:002009-03-11T11:30:06.080-07:00How I Met Rouge Keita<style type="text/css">!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --> </style> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">(17-01-09)</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">During the month of January, we were in Bamako for our Peace Corps technical training. During the three weeks, I learned a lot including how to make soap and jam and how to construct a solar dryer for fruits and vegetables. I could not be more excited to implement this new knowledge. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Our first free Saturday afternoon, Therese, Mark, Steve and I decided to walk to the nearest village for some refreshments. Upon arrival in Samaya (a village a few kilometers from Tubani So, the Peace Corps training center), we were pleasantly surprised by a new patron at the establishment. Off to the side of the main building, there was a live, full grown chimpanzee with a chain around its waist connected to one of the branches of the tree it was swinging from. We had frequented this establishment several times, but this was our first encounter with one of the local's chimpanzee. Naturally inquisitive, we went over to meet the men sitting near the tree and to meet the chimpanzee. It was interesting how the men treated the animal as a pet, a friend. One of the locals wanted all of us individually to introduce ourselves and shake the chimpanzee's hand. We were informed that the chimpanzee's name was Rouge Keita and that he has lived in Mali, just down the street, his whole life. When I reached my hand out to greet him, he swung his legs and twisted them around my arm before shaking my hand. Surprisingly, his grip was impressively strong. Although Steve is an animal lover, I could sense his hesitancy with Rouge. I mean, after all we were hanging out with a powerful, wild animal.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A little while later, we were all sitting around enjoying one another's company, when the locals spending time with Rouge decided to walk him around the concession. They brought Rouge over to where we were sitting and he immediately jumped onto the chair next to Therese. The locals told us that Rouge liked soda and could also smoke a cigarette, to which we all expressed our disapproval. While sitting next to Therese, one minute they were shaking hands, the next he had pulled Therese's hands into his mouth. At that moment, one of the locals pulled him away to chastise him. He did not actually bite down on Therese's fingers, it was more like a play bite, but enough to shake her up. Not thinking clearly, shortly after Therese's encounter, I decided to play a little with Rouge. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">On my way to the restroom (actually a rudimentary outhouse), I reached out to shake Rouge's hand and he did the same thing to me. Before I knew it, with all his strength he had pulled my right hand toward him and my right hand up to the knuckles was in the chimpanzee's mouth. Immediately, one of the men watching over him pulled him away to chastise him. But, just like Pete (my cat from home), Rouge was good at the play biting game. Actually now in retrospect, I am not sure why I was so afraid of Pete's play biting game, it is much more frightening with a wild animal. As if I didn't learn from my mistake the first time, with the encouragement of the local Malian, I decided to shake Rouge's hand again as an 'I'm not afraid of you' thing. Again, before I knew it, he had pulled me toward him and grabbed at my necklace, only he missed my necklace, grabbed my shirt and pulled off a button. At this point, I made it clear to all the Malians that yes, I am afraid of Rouge Keita. They all chuckled a little, but insisted that I give it one more try. After a few minutes, I finally decided to try playing with him one last time. We held hands, jumped up and down together, stuck our tongues out at each other, and my favorite making kissy faces at each other. Every time I would pretend to give him a kiss on the hand, he would smile from ear to ear and shake a little like he was laughing. While I think chimpanzees are incredibly smart and extremely like us, they are still wild animals, not pets, and I am freaking afraid to be up close and personal with them. </p>Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-65682448964626348522009-03-11T11:24:00.000-07:002009-03-11T11:29:09.728-07:00What I Will Find In 2009(06-01-09)<br /><br />I spent the first week of the new year in Kayes, before traveling to Bamako for a Peace Corps training. Since some of our friends, fellow volunteers, were in town, all the women, Ashley, Sam and I walked to 'Restaurant MacDonald' for the only item on the menu, a chawarma plate, Malian-style. (Of course, we brought dinner back for our significant others.) After dinner, we dropped Ashley at her apartment, then Sam and I continued along one of the main roads (one of the only paved roads in Kayes).<br /><br />When I am out and about in Kayes, I try to greet everyone. So naturally, as we were walking, I greeted two older women sitting on the side of the road. After greeting, the older of the two women motioned for me to come closer. She was sitting with both of her hands in her lap in a way that I could tell she wanted to show me something. As I came closer, she slowly opened a piece of tattered cloth that contained a small pile of shells. Immediately, I knew she wanted to read my fortune. (Just the week before, Amy, another volunteer, told me about how she had her fortune read by shells in Dogon.) Without hesitation, I sat down in the chair next to her and explained to Sam that I would just be a minute. Right next to the woman, there was a white bucket with a lid (like the ones that contain paint), she began throwing the shells onto the lid of the bucket like she was rolling dice. It took both Sam and I to try and decipher the woman's mixture of Bambara and French words in the exact same sentence, but we managed to understand at least four parts of my fortune. According to her, (and pertaining to my not so immediate future) I will<span style="font-style: italic;"> find</span> two children, a boy first and then a girl. In 2009, I will <span style="font-style: italic;">find</span> a lot of work. I will <span style="font-style: italic;">find</span> a lot of money. And most importantly, I will <span style="font-style: italic;">find</span> a good year. (Ironically, Sam received the exact same reading as me except she will <span style="font-style: italic;">find</span> a girl first and then a boy.) It only cost me 50 cents to <span style="font-style: italic;">find</span> out that I will <span style="font-style: italic;">find</span> all of these good things. (Yes, the woman continuously used the verb to find during my reading.) I can't wait to see what I will actually<span style="font-style: italic;"> find</span> in 2009.Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-91077598188213042902009-01-16T10:32:00.000-08:002009-03-10T12:52:31.881-07:00New Years in Dialafara!This year for New Years, we decided to go visit some of our friends, Andrew and Nicole in Dialafara. Dialafara is a small town about 250 km south of Kayes. We left on the 31st. The Peace Corps driver for the Kayes region, Vieux, gave us a lift, which is good because the road sucks (have you noticed a theme with our travel stories yet). Anyways, the actual New Year night was relatively uneventful. We played some cards and talked. Natalie and Nicole went to sleep early. Me and Andrew forced ourselves to stay up until midnight. We lit off some firecrackers at midnight with a couple of Malian guys. It seemed that the Malians thoroughly enjoyed themselves. The next day we took a walk and worked on Andrew and Nicole's garden and their new chicken coop. Their chicken coop was pretty cool, they made it out of mud like many of the Malian houses. I helped put in the roost (I learned what a roost was just before this) and Natalie helped to rip up straw for their bedding.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnwUpHMr-hAPTNTHzalgHep5NB3ik-yS9MIm7FYfFzT82h8YfAkh4kIVVfb1Hz-5-R9KNlHX3jlGQRDLps8JqIQl_fNjA-ImKkOkUlLsUGbICHUUKGuA7jityYBaL5VgfxGukpXGoCU74/s1600-h/dsc_0469.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnwUpHMr-hAPTNTHzalgHep5NB3ik-yS9MIm7FYfFzT82h8YfAkh4kIVVfb1Hz-5-R9KNlHX3jlGQRDLps8JqIQl_fNjA-ImKkOkUlLsUGbICHUUKGuA7jityYBaL5VgfxGukpXGoCU74/s320/dsc_0469.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311645174135915298" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We also took a little walk around the area. I saw these pretty cool parakeets and planned to take a major hike the next day. The next day we set off on our hike with a few bottles of water, cameras, and a couple of oranges. Andrew was quite the guide. He knows an incredible amount about the different trees and wildlife. It was really interesting. Anyways, after a while, we started to hear a strange barking noise. Andrew informed us that the noises we heard were baboons. We all decided that it would be a really good idea to head towards the baboons. All of a sudden Natalie yells out to us, “I see them!” No way! I have a bit of trouble seeing them because I wasn't wearing my glasses and I had to search for them through a 200mm telephoto lens on my camera. I managed to get a couple pictures before they scurried off though.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBwxp8NfwFFQPFpTPZ-AD5EVsDSjr7JnKjEYx3eWiypFbr0im2tb2jRXkEIq90LHxu0FNJusAFgX7-jP0oojLL_gBvUUugoDp2UC_s00xepJex7HaR_2JFr2HuDf0LA8a4u_IR0fxOTv4/s1600-h/dsc_0554a.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBwxp8NfwFFQPFpTPZ-AD5EVsDSjr7JnKjEYx3eWiypFbr0im2tb2jRXkEIq90LHxu0FNJusAFgX7-jP0oojLL_gBvUUugoDp2UC_s00xepJex7HaR_2JFr2HuDf0LA8a4u_IR0fxOTv4/s320/dsc_0554a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311648859371413042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Of course, at that point we decide, let's climb the mountain and follow them! So I have to say, right now I am in the middle of reading The Lord of the Rings, and our journey totally reminded me of it the whole way. First we had to wade through this ridiculous high straw which was well over our heads. This continued most of the way up a large hill which was full of large rocks. It was pretty slow going. Eventually we made it up to the top after a bit of rock climbing. The baboons were long gone, but we did manage to see them again on a distant cliff. They were clearly watching us. Andrew and the baboons did a bit of communicating through barking at this point. It was pretty funny. They were barking back and forth as if they were really talking. We found a cool rock wall which had these amazing holes and things in it that made for perfect and easy rock climbing. I was pretty pumped about it, as I'd recently read through a few Outside magazines. It really was amazing and even Natalie seemed to enjoy it. I couldn't help but think that this could potentially be a great new hobby. Andrew informed us that the cliff was clearly formed by running water and surely if we continued on, we would come to a waterfall and hopefully it doesn't run through the cliffs so we can see it. This seemed like a pretty good idea, so we walked along the cliffs until finally, we heard the sound of running water. It wasn't much, but it was definitely a waterfall.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRazzHSxGwUTW0mSrZaoeZpcoY6OnjhKy0HQ_jeARue1QMDGnHBfVrpni1Z9Lx4bJfSd-pdK26SeMv0MelamxBaO63s6VYKhG2-unelCmaqm-SJO_UHkkrfqoP66MLnIqFU8RCSHK0Tmqy/s1600-h/dsc_0620.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRazzHSxGwUTW0mSrZaoeZpcoY6OnjhKy0HQ_jeARue1QMDGnHBfVrpni1Z9Lx4bJfSd-pdK26SeMv0MelamxBaO63s6VYKhG2-unelCmaqm-SJO_UHkkrfqoP66MLnIqFU8RCSHK0Tmqy/s320/dsc_0620.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311648869906567090" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The types of trees there were really cool too. They had these huge root systems which hung into the water. We hung out at the waterfall for a while and had a bit of snacks and cooled off some. After some time, we decided we would try a different route back. We thought it would be a good idea to follow the waterfall down to the ground again. We should be able to rock climb down...I mean...we've been climbing up and down rocks all day. It should be no problem. We came to a point where we were forced to climb up and there was a little bit in the beginning that was steeper than vertical. This posed two problems. One, we couldn't see above the overhang, so we weren't really sure how far we had to climb, and two, once we got over the overhang, you were pretty much committed to keep on climbing. Natalie told me that she would do it if I would do it. With that, I decided to go first. I managed to make it over what seemed like would be the hardest point without too much trouble. Unfortunately, a couple steps up, I grabbed onto a rock and started to pull myself and realized that it was loose. This definitely freaked me out. I pulled the rock off and tossed it over my shoulder where it smashed into a thousand pieces far below. Unfortunately, I realized that this was a pretty bad idea because at that point I realized how high up I was and what was going to happen if/when I fell. I started to freak out and shake a bit uncontrollably. I know the chances of me actually falling were probably pretty slim, but at that point, I seriously considered the fact that I may be climbing to my death. It was then that I realized that Natalie was about to climb up to my point. I told Natalie and Andrew that I was having second thoughts about this route (actually I think I said I was totally fucking scared out of my mind). We all agreed that I should climb back down. Easier said than done. Basically, my plan was to crouch down, get the best hand grips I could and swing down with Andrew guiding one of my feet to a spot where I could place my feet. Of course, moments before the actual “swinging” took place, I started to chicken out. It was at this same moment that my hands started to slip and I realized, I've got about 5 seconds until I fall down, so I better drop down now. The swinging didn't really take place, but luckily Andrew more or less caught me and I thanked him profusely. At that point I said that we are turning around and going exactly the same way that we arrived. Eventually, we made it back and I shouted out “Eureka!”, which I never say (or think), but for some reason it felt appropriate at the time.<br /><br />Anyways, that night we finally bought the chickens for the chicken coop. Two males and two females. They are pretty interesting. It's so weird that chickens go completely calm when you hold them by the feet. Also, their legs are really warm and fuzzy. I always imagined them to be cold and scaly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCE1ooO0siANkUk5BH7pPH1SfijcTrPh58A3GFwVjFW7Si9tl4Ldx6qglQJfVaMcq2ZVfGZ-UICANSUBewUXRo_IwWdnugNYk2KvPoWPq89BZUwRdLrjdzJEwd-851l-8mcczha-TvCAr/s1600-h/dsc_0653.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCE1ooO0siANkUk5BH7pPH1SfijcTrPh58A3GFwVjFW7Si9tl4Ldx6qglQJfVaMcq2ZVfGZ-UICANSUBewUXRo_IwWdnugNYk2KvPoWPq89BZUwRdLrjdzJEwd-851l-8mcczha-TvCAr/s320/dsc_0653.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311648861221980034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That night we looked at the stars, you have never seen so many stars in your life. I learned quite a few constellations from an old Boy Scout manual that Andrew had around. I also decided that instead of rock climbing, my new hobby could be astronomy.Stephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-31740254009653503832009-01-16T10:28:00.000-08:002009-03-11T11:23:13.117-07:00BiennaleDecember 20 – December 30<br /><br />We saw signs for the 'Biennale' in Kayes as early as October. Ever since, we have been anxiously awaiting yet another cultural festival. Since the '60s and more recently revived, the Biennale is held 'every other year' (or every couple) as an art and cultural event for the entire country. Since the new president, every Biennale is now held in a different city in Mali and this year it would be held in Kayes. (In addition, every city chosen to host the Biennale receives a statue of the infamous 'Biennale' mascot. It was constructed in one of the major roundabouts in Kayes.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtRpYhhLYpw2rSPhuRFpgIfKKtD8vpr0lea33YWOJfcJ6I7KwM7FMINvo5hE-YDpzsacvS227xInKZTRvmAbqaQo1t_sNx5RS5dhBzsEwNoZSlnmjwUCGtYU10or1b9L1VBGfG0aDLzVe/s1600-h/dsc_0061.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtRpYhhLYpw2rSPhuRFpgIfKKtD8vpr0lea33YWOJfcJ6I7KwM7FMINvo5hE-YDpzsacvS227xInKZTRvmAbqaQo1t_sNx5RS5dhBzsEwNoZSlnmjwUCGtYU10or1b9L1VBGfG0aDLzVe/s320/dsc_0061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311651550093437954" border="0" /></a>In the days preceding the opening ceremony, we went shopping for the official Biennale fabric. It was a hideous puke gold color, however we bought a pagne's (pronounced as pan ya) worth (a little over a meter) for our collection. (It is more common to buy fabric in increments of a pagne rather than a true meter.) Adding to our excitement, we were informed that the opening ceremony at the stadium would consist of camel races. We could hardly contain our excitement... our first camel races.<br /><br />The day before the opening ceremony, Ashley, another volunteer who works with the tourism bureau in Kayes (OMATHO), invited us to a VIP-like dinner with live music at the Hotel du Rail in Kayes. We gladly accepted the invitation. After language class that Friday, we walked the hour to the Hotel du Rail in hopes of seeing some very important people. We also heard a free chicken dinner would be provided. Just the day before, Luis, another volunteer, told us that the president of Mali, Amadou Toumani Toure (ATT), would be attending the opening ceremony. We hoped to see him at the Hotel du Rail event but alas he was not yet in Kayes. We did see the Minister of Culture and were overly videotaped for a later television broadcast. (It is not uncommon while watching the national station (ORTM) to see footage of all the white people in attendance of whatever event is being broadcast.) We enjoyed the atmosphere and the Cuban inspired music that was performed. Unfortunately, on the walk home that night, I lost my phone.<br /><br />We awoke on Saturday morning the 20th to the sound of drums off in the distance. During our pre-service training, we were advised that any time you hear drums... go to them. I will always follow this advice. As soon as we were awake, we were off for the day. We were led to the paved road in Kayes n'Di, where we found crowds and crowds of people lining the street for the arrival of the president. Instead of waiting for the president, we decided to go explore the city, which is one of our favorite things to do. We walked the streets all morning greeting everyone in our path. By early afternoon, we had already decided to head to the stadium since we assumed the camels were there. We stumbled upon a free photography exhibit of all the prior Biennale celebrations that was very well put together. We were actually able to learn some of the history of the Biennale, such as its mascot is the snail. In addition to a photography exhibit, every region created a display educating about the 'marriage rituals' of each region. At this point in the afternoon, we could see people filing into the stadium so we followed.<br /><br />In Kayes, the stadium was built for a African Cup soccer tournament sometime in the early 2000s. Unfortunately, it has rarely been used since. (In fact, the house we live in was built to house soccer players for this tournament.) We arrived at the stadium about two hours early and found seats with backs in the shade, very key. Still, we had yet to see any camels, we were starting to question our intel. Although while we were waiting, we were entertained with performers from all the regions who were at the stadium early to practice. Finally around 4:30, we heard some official music... the president had arrived. Luckily, we had chosen seats right next to the VIP section where we were fairly certain the president would be. As he walked the track<br />around the stadium, all of the Malians around us stood, clapped and chanted 'A-T-T.' I had chills. We were within twenty feet of the president of Mali. After his arrival, we all sat back down and recomposed ourselves when all of a sudden we noticed the Malians around us looking up at the sky. At that very moment, a plane was flying overhead. (It is not uncommon for Malians to stare at airplanes as they do not see them very often.) We were less than excited to see an airplane in the sky, until we realized that it was surrounded by parachutes with the colors of the Malian flag. Yes, that's right, about six Malians were parachuting onto the soccer field in front of us. I got chills again. Just like many of the Malians, it was also my first time witnessing such a grand event. After the parachuting, we listened to the president speak about the fact that the problems of Mali are not only the problems of Kidal (the North), but that these problems affect all of Mali. We watched representatives from every region parade around the stadium. There were also several 'live performances' by local singers. (In Mali, 'live performances,' are all actually live lip synced performances.) Along with the parade, we were graced with performances from every region. By far, we enjoyed Kidal the most. To conclude the celebration, about fifty children in matching costumes performed a choreographed dance telling the story of the 'Manantali hippopotamus.' (In Bambara, the word 'Mali' means hippopotamus.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFaCn5AONaqaABQ3v_ZnOQh54kmU28g6kB2juSHChSnagkpLVJMcDe6D3AY_7JJiN0ImHpWscGFoGaqAzd4uWrr6mznN59kgXoGjLMzlcwTtobe2i2qkqumB6doHORXQAuOC-uxiC3lR6/s1600-h/dsc_0166.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0px 0px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFaCn5AONaqaABQ3v_ZnOQh54kmU28g6kB2juSHChSnagkpLVJMcDe6D3AY_7JJiN0ImHpWscGFoGaqAzd4uWrr6mznN59kgXoGjLMzlcwTtobe2i2qkqumB6doHORXQAuOC-uxiC3lR6/s320/dsc_0166.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311971393347489506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Throughout the ten days of the Biennale, there were different performances every night by artists from the different regions. Sometime during the week, while we were talking about the Biennale with Labas, our local language tutor, we told him that we took a picture of the president. Somehow, our conversation escalated to the topic of a picture with the president. We were told by Labas that if we ask the president for a picture, 'he cannot refuse.' While we were skeptical, we decided we had to try and we knew he was returning to Kayes for the closing ceremonies.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjdzxCP4yOb7sPYGlPpYnJNRoQ9bOK9QIty32L5J7BO5jGDKsTfqL95D7jIJJn_ALfA29jIAuTpM06bxrDF1H69rmX1jZYKYe53YxLF9vpCTzKhqbj2VwohNXFh8cg5wMzCxWZ5Prb3EO/s1600-h/dsc_0552.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjdzxCP4yOb7sPYGlPpYnJNRoQ9bOK9QIty32L5J7BO5jGDKsTfqL95D7jIJJn_ALfA29jIAuTpM06bxrDF1H69rmX1jZYKYe53YxLF9vpCTzKhqbj2VwohNXFh8cg5wMzCxWZ5Prb3EO/s320/dsc_0552.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311978947296045074" border="0" /></a>At the closing ceremony, a winner in each category (such as local dance, local music, drama, etc.) was named and then awarded cash prizes. To everyone's surprise, Tombouctou won the overall grand prize. (After the speech given by ATT, we wondered if it would be awarded to Kidal.) At the conclusion of the closing ceremony, much to our disappointment, we were unable to get a picture with the president. Not for lack of trying though, we pestered two different groups of guards who both chuckled and told us that a picture with the president 'was not possible.' Lucky for us, we still have a year and a half to keep on trying.Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-24812495659067648602008-12-24T04:13:00.000-08:002008-12-24T04:17:04.396-08:00After TabaskiIn Mali last week (December 8 to 10), we celebrated the religious holiday, Tabaski. Like most Malians, we had been anticipating and preparing for the holiday for the past few weeks. Unlike most Malians, we did not plan well enough in advance to have new 'complets' (outfits with a matching top and bottom) made especially for the event, but we did wear traditional Malian clothing. During our visit to the market the weekend before the holiday, we bought tea, sugar, and candies to give to our hosts as holiday gifts. Since we have access to a gas oven (at the PC bureau in Kayes), I made snicker doodle cookies for my homologue, Zenabou, and the families in her concession (her immediate neighbors) as well as for the family of one of Steve's co-workers, Awa. In Kayes, it is rare to find any sort of cake like dessert. Also, our local language tutor, Labas, taught us some 'blessings' in Bambara. (In Mali, it is extremely common to throw out blessings for any and every occasion. For example, after every purchase it is common to bless the vendor, 'Ala ka sugu diya' 'May God increase your market.')<br /><br />During the week preceding the holiday, my homologue was especially busy. As the female head of the household, her expectations were many. First and foremost, it was her responsibility to prepare the children for the holiday. She must buy or have made new complets for the children. She must make sure the boys have new hair cuts and the girls have new braids. In addition, it was her responsibility to plan, buy ingredients, and prepare the meals for the entire three days of the holiday. <br /><br />We were at Zenabou's house for lunch the day before the first day of the holiday. After lunch, Zenabou announced that she still must buy the sheep for her family. (It is tradition during Tabaski that every family make the sacrifice of a sheep, if not another animal (perhaps a chicken) according to the family's financial means.) <br /><br /><strong>First Day of Tabaski</strong><br /><br />On the first day of Tabaski, we arrived at Zenabou's concession around 9:00 or 10:00 in the morning; we realized we were right on time. Upon arrival, the five or six families in Zenabou's concession were already hard at work. All of the men and even the boys were in the middle of preparing the sheep, while all of the women were in the middle of preparing the breakfast for the morning. I enjoyed observing the gendered work. Of course, Steve was invited to help with the sheep, but politely declined... there was a lot of blood. As for our family's sheep, it was prepared by Zenabou's brother and two sons. It was the first one finished. Sitting in a circle together, we watched Zenabou and her brother divide the different parts of the sheep (for our family and to bring to his). In English, to be discreet, Steve and I tried to identify each of the parts of the sheep. We ate the liver for breakfast. <br /><br />Like many holidays I have observed in the States, the women were busy the entire day preparing the meals. I rarely got a chance to chat with Zenabou or any of the other women in her concession due to the chaos of meal preparation. (In Mali, all cooking is typically done over either a wood or charcoal fire, therefore requiring constant attention.) I did however get the chance to spend time with the children. We strategically brought two decks of cards to entice the children to play '151' with us (our favorite Malian card game). It worked! Immediately after Zenabou's youngest son had completed his work, he rushed over to play with us. In no time at all, all of the children were by our side. With Aisha, I played a regular 9-year-old girl's game of patty-cake, while she sang the chant in Bambara. With the other girls, we threw butter scotch candy wrappers (that we had brought) into the air and let them fall on us as we pretended it was 'l'argent' (money). I also did my fair share of tickling. <br /><br />After an afternoon of playing around with the kids, we finally ate lunch around 3:00 in the afternoon (late lunches are not atypical). On Malian holidays, it is also not atypical for each of the women in a concession to prepare a different meal so that all families can share with all the other families. Of course, we were given three different lunches from three different women. First, we ate the ribs of the sheep with a barbecue-like sauce and french fries. Second, we ate 'zamay' or fried rice, vegetables, and sheep (Zenabou's contribution). (Actually, 'zamay' is a traditional Senegalese dish, but one can find several variations of it all over Mali. With fish, it is arguably Steve and I's favorite dish in Mali.) At this point during lunch, we were absolutely full. We gave our blessings to the chefs, 'A barika.' And luckily, we were told we could bring our last lunch dish of vermicelli and sheep home with us to eat later that night. <br /><br />Next, we biked across town to Awa's house, one of Steve's co-workers. We arrived at Awa's house around 3:00 or 4:00 in the afternoon. During the days of the holiday, it is extremely common to travel to one another's houses (family, neighbors, co-workers, etc.) just to greet and wish them a good holiday. Unfortunately, so late in the afternoon, Awa was the only member of the family still at home, her husband and sons were all out greeting. We sat in her living room, just the three of us. (I enjoy spending time with Awa because she is very patient with our language skills.) We brought pictures of our family and friends to show her. We also brought some of the snicker doodle cookies. She told us that she had seen cakes like these before only in Bamako and Egypt. (Unlike most Malians we have encountered who have never left Mali, Awa has studied abroad in Egypt.) She ate three cookies in a row before hiding the rest to keep for herself. After some conversation in the living room, we were presented with yet another meal, a plate of liver and onions. (In Mali, it can be considered rude to turn down food.) I was so full I could only eat one bite, while Steve ate a few more to make it look like we had made an attempt. After yet again another lunch, we congregated outside for some tea. Since Steve was the only male present, he was in charge of the tea's preparation. The first pot was on the heat a little too long and turned out a little too strong, but we all drank it anyway. During tea time, some of Awa's sons started coming back home. Of course, they are all in love with Steve. He was greeted with hugs and secret handshakes. Just before dusk, it was time to say our farewells so that we could begin our bicycle ride home . <br /><br /><strong>Second Day of Tabaski</strong><br /><br />Over the past few months, we have formed a relationship with our neighbors, Vieux and Djiveril. We drink tea with them often and bought tea to give them for the holiday. On the second day of Tabaski, we had tea with them in the late afternoon after our language class. To our surprise, they invited us over for lunch the next day. Apparently, they were saving a second sheep to slaughter together on the third day of Tabaski. According to Djiveril, they bought the second sheep this year so that it could be prepared the way they liked it (the women not the men typically decide the menu for the other meals). <br /><br /><strong>Third Day of Tabaski</strong><br /><br />We were to meet at Vieux's house at 10:00 in the morning. Because Steve's stomach was not agreeing with him, I went alone. Although we had drank tea outside of Vieux's house many times, it was my first time inside his house. I greeted the crowd of women who were outside cooking and was directed toward one of the cement dwellings close by. I pushed my way through the sheer curtain covering the entrance to find Vieux and Djiveril with two other of our neighbors. All the men were patiently waiting inside for lunch. In the living room, the walls were lined with over-stuffed couches. I noticed an open seat near the door, however was quickly encouraged to sit in an open seat in the middle of the room. (I was a guest of honor.) We talked for a while... questions about the many differences between the States and here. 'What was my favorite sport in the States?' After some conversation, it was already time for tea. In Mali, the tea is served strong, hot, and extra sweet (sometimes with real mint leaves) in a small glass about the size of a shot glass. We also started listening to a cassette tape referred to as the 'slow forty' with artists such as Bob Dylan and the Beatles. For the before lunch meal, we ate from two common plates, sheep ribs and sheep steak and liver. It was a highly unusual scenario, I ate with the other four men. I was bullied by Djiveril into eating my share as well as the portion Steve would have eaten. I was stuffed! After the before lunch meal, I walked back the few blocks to our house to retrieve Steve for lunch. Although he was still feeling a bit under the weather, he agreed to come. As Djiveril urged, Tabaski only comes once a year. We returned together for lunch. After some more conversation, tea, and some banana ginger juice, it was finally time for lunch. We ate fonio with a red sauce (a couscous-like dish made with millet grain) and watermelon for dessert. Our after lunch conversation was the most stimulating, it was about giving, service, and change. At one point, Djiveril referred to the quote to exemplify his point by former U.S. President John F. Kennedy, “ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” I became a little choked up when I told him that Kennedy started the Peace Corps. As the time for my language class approached, we agreed we would continue our conversation another time. It was another successful holiday.Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-69775242577996819102008-12-02T02:23:00.000-08:002008-12-02T02:25:43.697-08:00Trip to KitaThursday, October 30, we along with seven other volunteers departed by train for Kita. Just as the stories suggested, the train was ridiculous. We paid the equivalent of $10 per person for our one way trip. I am not sure words could describe the state of this train. (First impression, it looked like an angry lion was let loose in the passenger car and ripped a few pieces from every seat.) Steve's 'seat' (as were many others) was without any sort of padding. He sat on bare coils that bounced when the train did. Before the train pulled out of station, we all decided to wager a little bet (25 cents per person) on who could most accurately predict our time of arrival. (It is a known fact that public transportation in Mali is riddled with delays and often unreliable.) According to other passengers, the train from Kayes to Kita should take anywhere from six to seven hours. While both Steve and I's estimates for time of arrival fell in early afternoon, Mark, another volunteer, estimated 7:11 AM the following morning. <br /><br />Along the route, the train stopped often at all of the small villages. It really was beautiful to see the countryside by train. At every destination, there were street vendors who walk the sides of the train selling anything and everything from water to hand fans (a typical scenario when traveling by public transport). By mid afternoon, Steve had already eaten five 'street food' sandwiches (from fish ball to roasted meat). All of us were enjoying the trip, until at one of our stops (with one hour left to go) we wondered why we had been waiting so long. Out of nowhere the woman who had been sitting in front of Steve and I informed us that the track ahead was being repaired and that the train would be stopped for at least two to three hours. <br /><br />Just for clarification, time is different in Mali (trust me it's true). An estimate of two to three hours most likely translates to at least four to six (things tend to move more slowly here). <br /><br />Sure enough, within a half hour another passenger informed us that the track ahead would not be repaired for another five to six hours. In the meantime, several of us walked around the village to explore and greet the villagers. We inquired about an alternate route to Kita, however were informed that there were no paved roads nearby. It seemed that our best course (and only course) of action was to wait with the train. We all started searching for snacks (for some, egg sandwiches for others canned meat and onion sandwiches), buying extra water, and laughing at what an adventure spending the night in this village would be. A few of us were sitting under a tree by the side of the tracks chit chatting when I noticed a 'bashee' drive up. (In Mali, the 'bashee' is arguably the most common source of public transportation. In most cases, it is an over-sized green van with benches along its four sides for public seating. Most of the time, the bashee does not have a passenger limit, the more the merrier.) Another volunteer, Sam, and I decided to walk over to find out the destination of this bashee (the first means of transportation other than the immobile train we had seen all afternoon). To our surprise, the bashee was on its way to Kita. At this point it was already early evening, the sun was starting to set and the train showed no immediate signs of departure. Although the driver wanted $5 per person, our decision was simple... get to Kita. We were only about 60 km from Kita, we suspected the bashee ride should take about a hour. We decided to make another wager on the estimated duration of our bashee ride. After the day we had had, surprisingly, our bashee ride was pleasant. It was dark out and cool (luckily the vehicle was equipped with headlights) and although we were traveling on a dirt road, the trip was fairly smooth. It took us 101 minutes to reach Kita, Steve won. <br /><br />Our time in Kita was nice. It gave Steve and I a chance to relax a little more than usual. For Halloween, the Kayes-kow (the people of Kayes) dressed as players from the Malian soccer team. (In Bambara, adding -kow to the end of a place refers to the people of that place. For example, shout out to the Effingham-kow! Oh yeah, Malians love shout outs too.) By far, the most exciting part of our trip was our exploratory hike up the hills/cliffs of the Kita skyline. <br /><br />We only planned on spending three full days in Kita. On the second to last day, Steve along with two other of our travel mates, Mark and Luis, went to the train station to purchase our return tickets. Despite our previous train experience just a few days before, we knew the train would be the quickest means of transportation between Kayes and Kita. (In fact, a paved road between the two cities does not yet exist.) At the train station, Steve was informed that there had been a derailment the day before and that it was unclear as to when the train would be up and running again. (Again, public transportation in Mali is often unreliable and at this point potentially dangerous.) At this point, it became clear that an alternative mode of transportation back to Kayes would be necessary. Our only other available option was to take the bus from Kita to Kadi (near Bamako) and then take another bus from Kadi to Kayes. (Unfortunately, this route is a much longer trip about 12 hours and far more expensive $25) At the Gana Transport bus gare, we were only able to purchase tickets for the first leg of our trip. We were informed that we could purchase tickets for the second leg of our trip at the gare in Kadi. An extremely personable Gana transport worker in Kita even offered to call ahead to Kadi to reserve tickets for the 10:30 AM bus passing through there. We would find out later that all of this information was in fact a fabrication (1) there is no bus gare in Kadi and (2) there is no 10:30 AM Gana Transport bus passing through. <br /><br />Bright eyed and ready for a long day of travel, we woke up at 5:30 AM on Monday for travel back to Kayes. Our first bus left Kita at 7:30 AM, we were anticipating a two hour bus ride before our switch at Kadi. Of course, we decided to make another wager on total travel time from Kita to Kayes. (Steve, the winner again, correctly placed our time of arrival in Kayes to be 10:30 AM the next day.) We arrived in Kadi (on time) only to discover there is no bus gare in Kadi and no more Gana Transport buses passing through the rest of the day. During the three minute stop in Kadi, we were not brave enough to get off the bus in fear we would end up stranded in Kadi. (In reality, we could have exited the bus at Kadi and negotiated to get onto any other bus passing through on its way to Kayes.) Instead, we stayed on the bus and headed for Bamako. We knew we could easily get a bus from Bamako to Kayes. We arrived at the Gana Transport bus gare only to discover that all of the buses to Kayes had left for the day. Immediately, Luis, another travel mate, started negotiating with a man from another transport agency (lurking in front of Gana Transport) for a way to Kayes. We were informed (from this man) a bus from Benso Transport would be leaving for Kayes in 30 minutes (11:30 AM). We called ahead to reserve tickets and jumped in taxis for the Benso Transport bus gare. As we pulled down a side street, I did not see the sign for Benso Transport, but we stopped anyway. Steve and the other male volunteers hurried to the ticket counter and purchased our tickets. As it turned out, we were not at the Benso bus gare. We just purchased 'no name/off brand' bus tickets with 'Elou Trans.' (In Mali, the bus companies with unrecognizable names are most likely a single bus operation.) We were quickly escorted down a busy market-esque (venders galore) side street. I could see two 'off brand' buses ahead and I prayed we were getting into the one on the left. We did. (Some aspects of public transport in Mali are extremely fair and logical, for instance, bus passengers board the bus (choose their seats) according to the order in which the tickets were sold. In our case, we had just purchased our tickets so for this leg of the trip, seat selection would not be on our side.) We were the last passengers to enter the bus (or so we thought), the only available seats were together in the very back of the bus. Luckily, we all had seats next to one another. The bus did not have air-conditioning (not uncommon), so Steve quickly bought himself a hand-fan from one of the vendors on the street through the bus window (25 cents). As the bus turned the first corner, we immediately hit a parked car. We were off to a good start. We didn't know it at the time, but this incident would be the first of our many delays. After we got moving again, we stopped again at a gas station for gas for the bus (naturally it wasn't full when we all boarded) and bathroom breaks (already). By the time we finally left the city limits of Bamako, it was already 1:30 to 2:00 PM. (We bought these tickets thinking the bus left at 11:30 AM.) During these first few hours, Steve and I noticed that the seat directly in front of him was broken and constantly stayed in the reclined position. In fact, very gradually the seats started falling further and further back until basically the back of the seat in front of Steve was nearly laying on his lap. As we stopped back through Kadi, we noticed we were picking up more passengers. Steve quickly decided he had better switch to one of the two open seats (and fast) before he was stuck in this uncomfortable position (of the seat in front of him laying on his lap) for the duration of the trip. Within minutes, one of the workers came to the back of the bus to assess the number of open seats available for sale. The worker motioned for me to move into the broken seat that Steve had just vacated. Naturally, I refused to move. (No worries.) Within minutes, the seat was sold to a Malian man who literally had to lift the seats in front of him (while passengers occupied the seats) just to squeeze into his seat next to me and then lay the seats back down on his lap. Clearly, he was the most uncomfortable passenger on the bus. Not only was every seat on the bus sold, but the isle and exit stairwell space was sold as well. At least ten Malian men sat on yellow water jugs in the isle of the bus and at least five stood in the two exit stairwells. (One thing is certain, 'Elou Trans' made sure they received the biggest bang for their buck on this voyage.) At one point, we stopped along the route to let yet another passenger aboard (who would be our final passenger). Our final passenger was made to stand in the isle surrounded by men sitting on yellow water jugs while hovering over another seated passenger. As you can imagine, this seated passenger was not happy. He stood up and started to protest. In Bambara, he started yelling at the workers that 'he was suffering' (translation from Bambara) from the amount of passengers. He kicked (not literally) the man who was hovering over him off the bus. However, the workers just squeezed him back on somewhere in the front. It was as if 'Elou Trans' was selling the air space around us as well. (You know it is miserable when even a Malian is complaining.) After all of our initial delays and small stops along the route, our trip home was very slow going. Contrary to what we had initially suspected, we discovered we would be traveling through the night. It was a good sign that our bus had working headlights, however were skeptical of our driver from the beginning (remember our first accident). Around 11:00 PM, we were barreling along the paved road when all of a sudden we must have hit a series of potholes. For what seemed like an eternity (probably only 30 seconds), it felt like the driver had lost control of the bus. We immediately stopped. Surprisingly, both Steve and Jared admitted that they thought it was 'the end.' They were positive the bus almost flipped. We all described the fear we had for our lives, when Luis decided to stand up for our safety. He turned to Jared and asked, 'How do you say 'slow the bus down' in Bambara?” Of course Jared's reply was, “I don't know.” After a few seconds of thinking, Luis stood up and yelled to the front of the bus, “Monsieur, donne donne.” (Mister, slow slow or small small). I am fairly certain a Malian or two laughed at his request. It took a good 30 minutes for the workers to examine the bus at which time it was decided we would continue. As soon as we started moving again, we could smell burning rubber and could hear and feel something wrong with the back left of the bus (where we were sitting). Also, the bus only seemed to be rolling at about 20 kilometers per hour. We yelled to the front to stop. Obviously, something was seriously wrong with our bus after our pothole fiasco. It was now after midnight and we received word that we were only 80 km outside of Kayes. During our wait, Steve made several trips outside the bus to talk with the 'repair' workers. It seemed the problem could not/would not be repaired, regardless, we would continue. After three hours of attempting to repair the unrepairable (at least without proper supplies), we started our last 80 km to Kayes. Unfortunately, our broken bus was only able to manage about 20 kilometers per hour. It took us four more hours to get there. We rolled into the 'no name/off brand' bus gare (filled with many other 'no name' buses) around 7:30 or 8:00 AM. We were hungry, filthy, and exhausted. It was a great trip!Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-8956831743877898992008-10-03T01:56:00.000-07:002008-10-03T01:59:24.191-07:00Malian NamesDuring Pre-Service Training, for about six weeks Steve and I stayed with Malian host families. It gave us the opportunity to observe first hand the Malian way of life. One of the tasks of each of our host families was to give us our Malian name. Within the first night, Steve was pronounced 'Oumar Toure.' However, it was the first year my host family hosted a volunteer. After two or three days, I finally broke down and asked my host mother for my Malian name. My Malian mother quickly declared that my Malian name would be 'Fatim Traore.' Steve and I have grown to love our new Malian names (Oumar and Fatim). After three months of responding to my new name, it is like second nature to hear someone refer to me as Fatim. <br /><br />At this point, it is a tradition for all new Mali volunteers to receive new Malian names. Our Malian names have helped us tremendously with our integration. In Mali, it is easier to remember Fatim or Oumar rather than Natalie or Steve. (The word Steve was always difficult for my host mother to pronounce.) In Mali, your last name or family name is also tremendously important. Unlike the United States, in Mali there are just over a hand full of family names. (Steve's Malian last name 'Toure' is the same as the current president ATT.) In Mali, your last name matters because it is tied to the history of your family. (For example, Toure is often a Songhrai family name whereas Traore is Bambara.) Therefore, with the utterance of your last name, a Malian will know the history of your family (perhaps your native land, native language as well as your trade).<br /><br />Another interesting phenomenon with Malian last names is that certain ethnic groups (family groups) joke with certain other ethnic groups. In Mali, historically rivaling ethnic groups (family groups) have what is known as 'joking cousins' relationships with one another. 'Joking cousins' relationships are another way of lightheartedly keeping the peace. Throughout the country, all Malians know what families are joking cousins with one another. At this point instead of rivalry, joking cousins relationships are merely a fun game of witty banter between Malians. We are constantly asked for our family names. Luckily, our new Malian family names include us in this name game. (For example, Steve's family name of 'Toure' are joking cousins with the 'Maiga' family.) As soon as Steve encounters a 'Maiga,' the joking cousins argument begins as to whose family is better. Often the witty banter escalates to full out donkey or bean eating jokes, as in whose family eats more beans. (Just as in the United States, bean eating jokes are lightheartedly derogatory in that bean eaters have more gas.) Our embrace of our new Malian family names is yet another path toward integration.Natalie Mette Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15388406110675393846noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-81280261345685306422008-08-07T11:35:00.000-07:002008-08-07T12:05:06.375-07:00Going to KayesWhew...what a month. Everything here is going great. I know I haven't written much yet, and I will attempt to rectify that now.<br /><br />So...my homestay family is really nice. I live with a family of 4 boys, 3 girls, a sick mom, a dad, and many random cousins, uncles, etc...It's an interesting experience and they are in general super friendly. I have found a new love of Malian Tea. It is such a cool production. Heres how it goes.<br /><ol><li>Boil water in one teapot</li><li>Add the tea (lots of tea)</li><li>Let it cook for, depending on who you ask, 2-10 minutes</li><li>Then switch the tea to a seperate teapot with mint in it</li><li>Cook for an additional 30 seconds</li><li>Add a hillarious amount of sugar (seriously)</li><li>Repeatedly pour the tea back and forth from the teapot to a shotglass to create foam...a skill I have yet to master.</li><li>Taste the tea</li><li>Add a little more sugar</li><li>Taste it again</li><li>Clean the outside of the shotglass and the plate that everything is on</li><li>Make some more foam</li><li>Give everyone in the vicinity (ie...strangers, family, etc) a half a shotglass of it (in age order of course)</li><li>Repeat (all day)</li></ol><p>It's so good and strong. Amazing stuff. I'm sure I'm coming home with many cavities. My brother Issa and my language instructor Daou are teaching me to make it. Also, my language instructor is freaking amazing. Even though I didn't do that great on my mid training test, I'm confident that I'll make it through the language (at least I'm not the worst :). Just kidding anyone in my class reading this :) ).</p><p>So every day we have language classes underneath a mango tree outside our language instructors temporary house. It's kind of a cool concept but is totally distracting. Random animals, children, people in general pop in on us all the time. It's totally the Malian way...for example, some guy pulls up on a Moto and is like what's up, what are you guys doing. The instructors like, well...practice your language with him. Then he was like, follow him to his house and meet his 4 wives, and countless children. It's really weird. Also, there are always herds of cows, dogs, goats, etc...walking right through the middle of our classes. There is this one little kid, probably 10, who just hangs out all day and watches us. He clearly has ringworm on his face, so no one really wants to touch him (beyond the occasional fist bump (which the Malians love)). The other day he killed a lizard in front of another girl in my class who was totally sick. She's like on her deathbed and the kid walks up and smashes a lizard. Then he rips out the guts. Later he told someone that he ate the lizard. Nasty...</p><p>So Malians and all West Africans I think, do these insanely long greetings. It's so different. When walking past random people (everyone), you must greet them and shake their hands, ask how everyone in their family is, give a few prayers...it's wild It goes like this:</p><ul><li>Me: Hello</li><li>Them: Hello. How are you?</li><li>Me: All is well</li><li>Them: How is your family?</li><li>Me: They are well.</li><li>Them: How is your father?</li><li>Me: He is well.</li><li>Them: How is your mother?</li><li>Me: She is well.</li><li>.....and on and on...</li></ul><p>Another interesting thing ( I think ) is that the idea of homosexuality is so taboo here that it is not generally even considered. Men frequently walk down the street holding hands. They'll sit on each others laps. I even saw my brother and a friend grab another guys privates once. It's so interesting. During the whole greeting, you start with a hand shake, except you hold hands throughout the whole thing. Sometimes you let go to touch your heart though or bump knuckles.</p><p>Hmm...I'm trying to think of other interesting stuff, but I think every moment of my stay here has been crazy, so I'll spare you the minute by minute details of my life. I'll try to add some pictures before I leave for Kayes on Saturday...I'm going to check out my site for a week and basically hang out. It should be pretty cool (hot?). I'll let you guys know how it goes. Love you all.</p>Stephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-67958965270869517932008-07-15T00:46:00.001-07:002008-07-15T00:49:02.588-07:00HomestayWell, we're off to homestay. Homestay is a phase where we live with a Malian family for a few months. During the days, we have language classes and we go home for meals and to hang out with the family and learn how they do things. It should be interesting though especially because of the lack of shared language. Hopefully by the end of this thing we will speak the same language though! Also, me and Natalie, as expected are living with different families. Unexpectedly, we will be in the same village though so "Yeah!". Well...gotta go.Stephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-81146334562545072522008-07-12T12:36:00.000-07:002008-07-12T12:46:29.787-07:00Some quick picsWhere we live:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CUFq3fMTgjs6Pr1yha94rPDaiVnic3icK_yEaaKSU17niVWol_1BwF6c3iaks-1X3bwUUIlu_C9RSlqDMUEZy7rTDk9rurNHDW70x-y8WrZjKJw6tUZ-JBtT3Ld9UJDzAL6_NnInCCOd/s1600-h/dsc_0019_small.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CUFq3fMTgjs6Pr1yha94rPDaiVnic3icK_yEaaKSU17niVWol_1BwF6c3iaks-1X3bwUUIlu_C9RSlqDMUEZy7rTDk9rurNHDW70x-y8WrZjKJw6tUZ-JBtT3Ld9UJDzAL6_NnInCCOd/s320/dsc_0019_small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222215044051547026" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The inside of our mud hut:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhNtBZ-tYni2lPr4W-XOxCAhjFEv9odWeWPLfGLNYl9vRPtszolbjeL5Kq_OZtQy5CzRR5P41TLQcWrYyyWjrlBONqQbCfwwUrfreup_cPeJ8wddK4fZjllSCxS7ZGb_Y0a2gb3LescRb/s1600-h/dsc_0010_small.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhNtBZ-tYni2lPr4W-XOxCAhjFEv9odWeWPLfGLNYl9vRPtszolbjeL5Kq_OZtQy5CzRR5P41TLQcWrYyyWjrlBONqQbCfwwUrfreup_cPeJ8wddK4fZjllSCxS7ZGb_Y0a2gb3LescRb/s320/dsc_0010_small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222215286574136802" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The nyegen...I'll let you figure out what goes on in here:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9wDwpe8c-sIV2pfMYSwGXkvbYPhP_4WNCCIFskOJ3qBPmQrtAU3oNuqojHgXhfr2hyTZmvUEvCnZ3JSqZREz6rFcTAjBXSEtj1a8BqrcI2yBCq3UNbNeKUakj-4hwt8EEh8gHX9VRITe/s1600-h/dsc_0023_small.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9wDwpe8c-sIV2pfMYSwGXkvbYPhP_4WNCCIFskOJ3qBPmQrtAU3oNuqojHgXhfr2hyTZmvUEvCnZ3JSqZREz6rFcTAjBXSEtj1a8BqrcI2yBCq3UNbNeKUakj-4hwt8EEh8gHX9VRITe/s320/dsc_0023_small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222215658837517890" border="0" /></a>Stephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-48544636925458095292008-07-11T11:36:00.000-07:002008-07-11T11:42:42.896-07:00We made it!We are in Mali now! I'll give you a brief run down of the events.<br /><br />We arrived in Bamako via Paris late last night. It had to have taken us more than an hour to get our bags out of the tiny little Bamako National Airport. We were warned that the people there are very pushy, but I really didn't find them all that pushy. Anyways, afterwords, we were brought to the training facility. It's a pretty cool place. Me and Natalie have a cute little mud hut with two single beds pushed together and a ceiling fan (yes...that means electricity!) We woke up this morning with no electricity and it got pretty steamy, but it was still nice. Luckily I was so exhausted that it didn't phase me. Anyways, we've spent the whole day in training, and I'm pretty muched pooped. Also, last night there was like a foot long gecko in the bathroom. There are really pretty birds and trees here. It's pretty cool. Well...I better run. Love and miss you all.Stephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-43245516860587452252008-07-09T09:59:00.001-07:002008-07-09T10:03:57.236-07:00Leaving for the AirportWell...staging is over. We are all waiting for the bus now. Natalie and I are super excited now. I spent some time with some of my new friends last night. Today we woke up early and headed over to the clinic for Yellow Fever shots. I didn't have to get one though because I had one in 2002. Me and Natalie also got our Malaria medicines. I get to take a pill every week that apparently gives me really crazy dreams. Natalie has to take a daily pill which makes her more susceptible to sunburns. Well...off to Mali.Stephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025453344923166923.post-13764785168776016832008-07-07T18:48:00.000-07:002008-07-07T19:17:06.415-07:00Staging Day 1After a long 9 days of visiting (4 days at the Mette's, 1 day travel, and 4 days at the Bory's), we finally made our way to Philadelphia for our staging. We have now been introduced to most of the 78 people who we are going to Mali with. It's a pretty busy couple of days. Here's our itinerary:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom:0px; padding-bottom:0px;">Day1:</span><br /><table style="border: 1px solid black; margin-top:0px; padding-top:0px;"><tbody style="margin-top:0px; padding-top:0px;"><tr><th width="200">Time</th><th width="400">Topic</th><br /></tr><tr><td>1:30 - 3:00</td><td>Registration</td></tr><tr><td>3:00 - 7:00</td><td>Welcome and Introductions</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Peace Corps Approach to Development</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Personal Definition of Success</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Safety and Support<br /></td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Anxieties and Aspirations</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Nuts and Bolts</td></tr><br /></tbody></table><span style="font-weight: bold;">Day 2</span>:<br /><table style="border: 1px solid black"><tbody><tr><th width="200">Time</th><th width="400">Topic</th><br /></tr><tr><td>8:30 - 12:00</td><td>A Slife of Life: Coping with Unwanted Attention</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Managing Risk</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Policies in Practice</td></tr><tr><td>12:00 - 1:30</td><td>Lunch</td></tr><tr><td>1:30 - 6:00</td><td>Change 5 Things</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Crossing Cultures</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Staging Capstone</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Bridge to Pre-Service Training</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Logistics of Departure</td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td>Evaluation and Closing</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Day 3:</span><br /><table style="border: 1px solid black"><tbody><tr><th width="200">Time</th><th width="400">Topic</th><br /></tr><tr><td>7:30 - 12:00</td><td>Shots at the clinic</td></tr><tr><td>12:00 - 2:00</td><td>Check out of hotel</td></tr><tr><td>2:00</td><td>Go to airport</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It was a pretty good first day. We saw how everyone else around us has similar fears about going to Mali. Today has really gotten us excited to go on our adventure.<br /><br />Also, we discovered a few days ago that we will have frequent internet access while we are are the training facility during the first few months of training. Woohoo! Love you all!Stephen Boryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09953367118386371177noreply@blogger.com0